


He Who Writes My Story

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Erotic Fiction, Fiction Author, Law Enforcement, M/M, Meant To Be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4246272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his last book flops and he breaks up with his boyfriend, Jensen moves back to his hometown of Brookgreen, California, to start over. His plans to take a break from writing (and dating!) veer off-course, however, when Jensen’s best friend introduces him to Jared, the new deputy sheriff in town, who immediately reignites Jensen's creativity along with his desire. Now it's up to Jensen to decide which he wants more: a successful book or a relationship with the man of his dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Who Writes My Story

**Author's Note:**

> **Based on this prompt from the SPN Meant to Be Challenge:** _Molly Jennings has one naughty little secret: her job as a bestselling erotic fiction author. Until her inspiration runs dry—thanks to a creepy ex—and it's time to skip town and move back to tiny Tumble Creek, Colorado. One look at former high school hunk chief of police Ben Lawson and Molly is back in business. The town gossip is buzzing at her door and, worse still, a stalker seems to be watching her every move. Thankfully, her very own lawman has taken to coming over, often. The only problem now is that Molly may have to let the cat out of the bag about her chosen profession, and straitlaced Ben will definitely not approve.…_
> 
> I went a slightly different route - after my Big Bang story and the events which unfolded in my beautiful city of Charleston, South Carolina over the last few weeks, I couldn't bring myself to write anything angsty or dark. I hope you enjoy the result!

 

**I know your dirty little secret.**

Jensen’s pulse quickens when he sees the text pop up on his phone. Then, he sees who the sender is and rolls his eyes.

**Still unpacking, asshole.**

There’s a half-unpacked box sitting at Jensen’s feet. He eyes the space remaining in his new cutlery drawer and sighs. Clearly he should have gotten rid of half of his knives before he moved. 

His phone dings again.

**It’s like that, bro? Maybe I’ll start introducing you as my buddy, the kinky porn writer.**

Jensen rolls his eyes and picks up his cell phone.

**Then I’ll have to tell the Fosters that you were the one who ran down their store sign when we were seventeen.** As an afterthought, he fires off another text. **And my porn isn’t kinky.**

**Touché. Dinner?**

Jensen has been in his new house for less than half a day, and his fridge is completely empty aside from a six pack from a local microbrew left by his realtor and a pitcher of filtered water.

**Where’s good these days?**

A lot can change in twelve years. Jensen figures most of the places he used to haunt have changed over—sold, reinvented or just plain gone. If there’s anyone who can give him a crash course in present-day Brookgreen, it’s his best friend from high school.

Jensen met Nicholas Yau and his family when they moved to northern California just before freshman year. He’d been raised in Los Angeles, a total Hollywood rug-rat from the time he could kung-fu on camera. Tapped for a dozen martial arts films before he was thirteen, Nick appeared destined for bigger roles until his parents pulled the plug on his imminent stardom.

But Nick wasn’t bitter; he adapted well to a normal life after a few inevitable bumps. He and Jensen got along well from the beginning. They both loved sports (Nick was a natural at almost everything whereas Jensen stuck to swimming and soccer), but it was in their creative classes where their friendship thrived.

Nick acted; Jensen loved to write. It worked.

Jensen hasn’t lived in the same city as Nick for years, but now that he’s living in Brookgreen again, he’s hoping things will fall back into place. Nick’s a good guy and, let’s face it, Jensen could use his old friend right now.

The box on the kitchen floor is mocking him with its many newsprint-wrapped bundles waiting to be put away. Three more boxes await their turn in front of the oven, and there are half a dozen in the living room. No shortage of tasks to keep Jensen distracted until dinner, and suddenly he feels overwhelmed.

Everything has been happening so fast: Brian, his last book flopping, the decision to move. One thing after another with barely a chance to take a breath in between. Now that Jensen has a chance to stop and think, he realizes just how exhausted he is.

Dinner with Nick is sounding better and better. He’d always been good at snapping Jensen out of his funks, and in the long list of things that have changed over the last ten years, Jensen hopes that’s not one of them.

**#####**

_122 West_ didn’t exist the last time Jensen called Brookgreen home. Neither did the entire complex around it: one of those ‘live-here, shop-here, dine-here’ developments that looks a little out of place compared to the rest of Brookgreen.

Progress, Jensen thinks. Not that he’s complaining. There’s more _life_ in Brookgreen now; it was obvious the second he drove into town. Maybe his spur-of-the-moment decision to come back wasn’t such an idiotic idea after all.

“Hey, dick! Get your ass over here and buy me a drink!”

Then again…

Jensen walks straight into Nick’s full, back-slapping man-hug before sliding onto the empty bar chair Nick has saved for him.

Physically, Nick Yau is smaller and leaner than Jensen (and he’s never hibernated through a Colorado winter), but he’s proof that appearances can be deceptive. Nick could take on every guy in this bar without breaking a sweat. He possesses a frame suited for speed and compact strength—an ideal build for martial arts which he’d translated into his acting career. Beyond that, Nick’s brown eyes hold more life and mirth than anyone else Jensen has known, his short black hair always artfully styled in a way Jensen’s never been able to duplicate.

“I couldn’t believe it when you told me you were moving back here, man,” Nick says. The smile on his face competes with Jensen’s for the highest wattage in the bar. “What are the odds? Like, I only came back last year, and now here you are.”

Over a couple of beers and the tastiest basket of fried pickles Jensen has ever eaten, he tells Nick about the house he’s renting and his plan to fill in for the creative writing professor at Clear Lake Community College while she’s on extended maternity leave. He skims over the end of his relationship with Brian; Nick deserves to know, but it’s too much, too soon.

Seriously though, Jensen is absolutely, one hundred percent over the guy, but tonight is not the night to dissect anything.

To shift the focus elsewhere, he gets Nick talking about his latest venture.

“I’m getting a ton of interest from local police departments and sheriff’s offices to teach hand-to-hand combat seminars,” Nick tells Jensen, expression lighting up. His passion is obvious in his gestures and the tone of his voice. “Something a little more intense than the academy courses, you know? It’s gonna be more like aggressive self-defense techniques. How to subdue and restrain without deadly force or weapons, just in case.”

“Sounds awesome,” Jensen says, nodding at the bartender when he slides over another bottle and removes the empty. “How’d you even start doing that?”

Nick leans into the bar. The volume has steadily gotten louder, more and more people walking through the door to start their Friday nights off the right way.

“The new deputy sheriff contacted me a couple of months ago. He’s not your typical small-town cop. The guy’s from Texas and I think he said he used to be a Fed.”

“Sounds a lot better than Chitwood,” Jensen says, recalling the man who occupied the post of Sheriff last time Jensen lived in Brookgreen.

“Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

The new voice is close to Jensen’s ear, raised to be heard above the rest of the surging crowd. Looking at the man who’s suddenly appeared beside him, Jensen is struck by his unusual profile. Forehead supported by a prominent brow over a long, sloping nose. Wide lips, strong chin, and a neck that goes on and on, all the way down to a tight v-neck t-shirt, black fabric setting off the man’s tan skin.

He tilts his face towards Jensen. “Sorry to break it to you, but Sheriff Chitwood retired years ago.”

“Deputy P., nice to see you, man!” Nick reaches behind Jensen to give the newcomer a quick fist bump. “Jenny, this is the guy I was just telling you about.”

“Call me Jared,” he says. “I’m not on duty tonight.” 

Jensen shakes Jared’s hand, tempted to hold it in his grip so he can fully appreciate its strength and contours. That would be _creepy_ , Jensen reminds himself. He’s always had a penchant for describing a person’s hands; he hopes a mental snapshot will be enough to remember the details next time he sits down to write. Or he could just pull out his phone and type a few notes when Nick isn’t looking.

Totally _less_ creepy, right?

Jared has moved between their chairs, reaching past Jensen’s shoulder to grab the bottle the bartender hands over. He and Nick start talking about the training they’ve set up while Jensen listens with half an ear. 

Jared catches him eavesdropping and grins. “Seriously though, Nick’s classes just a way for me to keep the department in shape. More martial arts, fewer donuts. Just think what it’ll do for healthcare costs.”

“Sounds like something a guy running for sheriff would say.”

Jared tips his bottle to his lips. “You never know.”

Jensen would vote for him in a heartbeat. Just imagine the campaign posters. Jensen would happily write speeches for the guy even though they’ve just met.

“So, _Jenny_ , what do you do?”

“I ruin the lives of anyone who calls me Jenny,” Jensen tells him, mouth flat. He’s half-kidding. Nick is the worst with nicknames; he's the only one who can get away with it. 

“My bad,” Jared apologizes. “Let me buy your next beer.”

After he orders, Jensen tells him about his temporary position at CLCC. 

“A professor, huh?”

“Something like that,” Jensen admits. “I grew up here, though. There’s a lot to relearn. I’ve only been back in town for a couple of days.”

Squirming on his chair, Nick looks ready to burst, a little crazy in the eyes. He knows the rules. Jensen’s _other_ career is not to be mentioned out loud unless Jensen’s the one to bring it up.

Did he mention that his literary agent is Kimi Yau? Nick’s _mother_. Yeah, Nick’s known Jensen’s secret for a long, long time.

Doesn’t mean Nick won’t find a way to embarrass him regardless. “You should get Jared to show you around. Jay, you've been here, what? Two years? That’s long enough to know new Brookgreen.”

“I’d be happy to,” Jared says, ignoring the way Jensen is staring back at Nick with murderous intent. 

That’s how Jensen finds himself waiting for Jared to pick him up on Monday night. It’s not a date—at least that’s what Jensen keeps telling himself. Jared told him that, too, when he brought up the idea of introducing Jensen to the redesigned Brookgreen lakefront.

Jared pulls up in a clean black truck, all white teeth and ruddy cheeks, bare forearms leaning on the steering wheel as he waits for Jensen to climb in.

“You have a good weekend?’ Jared asks after Jensen thanks him again for the offer of a night out (one with fewer beers than he’d have with Nick).

“Spent most of it unpacking.”

“It’s a never-ending process, huh? Before I moved here, I thought I’d gotten rid of all the junk in my old apartment, but it still took me three weeks before the last box was gone.”

The two of them trade moving stories all the way down to the waterfront. The deputy strikes Jensen as a guy who makes friends easily, finds common ground no matter with whom he’s socializing. Jensen is more cautious these days. He knows that most people find him attractive, but they make the mistake of assuming it means he’s fine with getting hit on all the time. In every situation. _Aggressively_. More than once he’s turned someone down politely only to have it thrown in his face. As if he needs to accept borderline-harassment based solely on the way he looks.

In Jared’s case, however, Jensen wouldn’t mind a little flirtation. But he’s been nothing but friendly since Friday night—even his text messages were free of any innuendos. (Nick made certain Jared didn’t leave the bar without exchanging numbers.)

Jared pulls the truck into a small parking lot behind a bistro.

“It says ‘employees only.’”

“Marat’s a buddy of mine,” Jared says, boot-heels crunching on gravel when he steps out. “He won’t mind. Besides, we’re coming back here for dinner.”

Jared and Nick were right; the lakefront has changed. Where there were once old wooden buildings looming like dilapidated shadows over the shore, there’s now only open greenspace crisscrossed with gently winding walkways and granite benches.

“The buildings are gone.”

“I never saw them, but plenty of people have told me how ugly they were.”

Jensen remembers. “The city fought over them for a long time. Half of Brookgreen claimed they were too historically significant to tear down while the rest saw them for the eyesores they truly were.”

“Guess I know which side you were on,” Jared teases. Light breezes blowing off the lake lift the hair away from his face, dwindling sunlight painting the slope of his cheekbones. “So what do you think now?”

Jensen’s tongue feels too heavy to speak. He thinks that Jared’s serendipitous appearance at the bar on Friday night is the universe putting its stamp of approval on Jensen’s breakup with Brian. Telling him _look! See what else is out there for you?_

But that’s not what Jared meant. Obviously.

“It looks much better,” Jensen says so that Jared’s smirk doesn’t etch itself any deeper into his expression. “The park’s gorgeous. I should come running down here someday.”

Jared tilts his head. “You run?”

“Do I look that out of shape?”

“Far from it.” And finally, _fucking finally!_ Jensen sees a spark of interest from the deputy. “I run, too, whenever I get some time off.”

Jensen tries to remember the best routes he found growing up. Turns out Jared has run a few of them, and he mentions new ones for Jensen to try once he’s settled. By then they’ve walked to the shore and back, making for the little bistro where Jared parked.

“I’ll have to get used to all the new places,” Jensen says as they take seats at the small, intimate bar within the equally small bistro. Jared introduces him to Marat, the owner, a Turkish restaurateur who stands as the embodiment of the phrase _tall, dark, and handsome_. 

Instead of bringing them menus, Marat insists on choosing plates for them. Something Jared must be used to, given the way he smiles at Marat. 

"Trust me, you won’t be disappointed. Marat hasn’t done me wrong yet.”

Jensen falls prey to a jealous moment seeing how friendly Jared and Marat are with one another, but once Marat has brought them each a grapefruit soda (a house specialty, apparently), Jared’s entire focus is back on Jensen.

Marat is a genius. Jensen’s sea scallops are phenomenal and perfectly seasoned. He’s equally impressed with Jared’s tenderloin and watermelon radishes after the deputy offers him a generous bite.

“This place is gonna be dangerous.”

Jared agrees, patting his stomach as if the amount he’s just eaten is visible. “I started coming here after my late shifts. Marat doesn't mind if I stay after closing just to relax with a glass of wine.”

Since Jared doesn’t seem to mind questions, Jensen gives voice to his curiosity. “Nick mentioned you used to be a Fed.”

“I worked for the FBI in Dallas before I moved here,” Jared explains. “Met a lot of great people in training at Quantico and in my department, but after a while I wanted to change the scale I was working on. Does that make sense?”

“Not really,” Jensen admits, “but I wouldn’t mind hearing more.”

He savors the smile that earns him.

They stay at the bar until all the other diners have gone. Jensen would normally feel bad, but Jared assures him Marat doesn’t mind. By the time they finally split the check and head back to Jared’s truck, it’s past ten o’clock and Jared’s driving him home.

He would rather stay out with Jared, _obviously_. Unfortunately, the deputy claims an early shift in the morning and Jensen doesn’t want to lose the rush of inspiration that’s come over him. Jared’s presence has somehow managed to coax Jensen’s creativity out of the deep, dark hole it crawled into after his last book failed to meet anyone’s expectations.

On the drive back to Jensen’s, they make plans to run the waterfront the next time Jared has an afternoon off. Maybe grab drinks between now and then, too. 

Jensen’s going to keep his fingers crossed.

**#####**

After the kitchen, Jensen made sure his office was the next to be unpacked. Rather than use the small home office in the front of the house, Jensen chose to set up his desk in the guest bedroom. Not only was the space bigger for his oversize desk, there was also a bay window that matched the one in his master bedroom looking out into the woods behind the house.

Jensen retreats to the office as soon as he changes into something more comfortable, creativity on overload. The thoughts in his heads are swirling, each trying to scream the loudest, be the first to become words on a screen. There’s no need to click thru his bookmarked porn blogs on Tumblr for inspiration like he normally would. Just spending time with Jared is encouraging enough.

Who knew a casual non-date would be enough to jump start Jensen’s gears?

Words flow from his mind to his fingers, a new plot taking shape on the screen without Jensen having to plan and outline in advance. He begins crafting the story of a small town cop trying to find his way back to normalcy after a bad break up, and how he meets a wealthy investor new to the area, escaping the stress of his former job in the city.

If the cop resembles a certain long-haired deputy with forest green eyes, so what? Jensen can always edit his character’s appearance later on...if he feels like it.

Kimi, along with Jensen’s editor, has been pressuring him to write something _kinkier_ since before things with Brian fell apart. The world of erotica is (tragically) all about the _Fifty Shades_ craze right now. Jensen’s never lived anything like that, never experienced it; he’s not sure that he wants to. Bondage, submission, domination...not exactly concepts on Jensen’s personal kink list. Not that he sticks to writing _only_ what he’s personally experienced, but it helps.

Right now, on the other hand, Jensen’s having a difficult time keeping himself focused while under assault from so many delicious mental images. Being around Jared is like a Pandora’s Box of potential fantasy scenarios: once open, they don’t stop coming.

Two chapters are written by the time Jensen stops to check his progress. His characters are vibrant and desperate, needs eager to be fulfilled. Sort of like Jensen himself—he has _needs_ he’d like Jared to fill. Therein lies his problem, however. As much as he wants to date the man (and he’s received enough hints to think the feeling might be mutual), Jared can’t be his inspiration _and_ his boyfriend. It just doesn’t work that way. At least, that was the case with his ex-boyfriend Brian back in Colorado. 

Even the briefest thought of Brian tends to bring bitter memories, and tonight is no different. Jensen recalls how, eight months into their relationship, he decided to spill the beans about the books he’d written. He never lied about being an author—Brian thought he wrote short stories for literary magazines. To say Brian was surprised by the truth would be an understatement; he was downright shocked.

After his revelation, it took another month for Jensen to really start noticing the changes in his Brian’s behavior. Sex went from decent to awkward. After they came, Brian started asking if Jensen was going to write about it—if it was ‘good enough for all those housewives who download your books.’ Jensen took it as a joke at first, something anyone who just found out their boyfriend wrote gay erotica for a living would say. He assumed Brian would eventually deal with it and they’d go back to normal. Only ‘normal’ was never seen again. 

Striking those unpleasant thoughts from his mind, Jensen manages to pound out another chapter before his phone alarm chirps, reminding him that it’s two in the morning and he needs to sleep. He learned a long time ago that nothing good happens (outside of the bedroom) after two a.m., and that includes further writing.

**#####**

“My mom says you’re writing again.”

Jensen dodges his glove by stepping to the side, jabs back but the hit glances off the side of Nick’s face. “Dude, it's weird that Kimi talks to you about my stories.”

“I don’t _ask_ ,” Nick points out, laughing when his next punch hits Jensen’s cheek. “She thinks I want to know! I probably know more about gay sex than those twinks over there.” His gloved hand points towards the far corner of the gym where a group of guys are lined up on treadmills. Like Jensen and Nick, they're taking advantage of a late, quiet night at the gym. 

Jensen knocks him in the shoulder and ducks the next hit. 

Because Nick teaches a class here, he brought Jensen along for free to enjoy a little time in the ring. Jensen’s night class only meets Tuesdays and Wednesdays, leaving Thursday nights open, and he could use an excuse to get away from his work. He’s written several more chapters since going out with Jared last Monday night, so it’s no wonder Kimi mentioned something to her son.

Jensen never works this fast. Kimi must think he’s started taking drugs or something.

“How about a drink?”

“To celebrate you kicking my ass for the millionth time?” Jensen scoffs, reluctantly pulling his boots on over his sore feet. After a morning run, two afternoon classes, and a few hours spent writing while he ate dinner (not to mention boxing with a martial arts expert), Jensen’s tired. Strangely, the thought of going out is an appealing one.

Nick grins as he’s pulling on his leather jacket. “If you insist!”

Jensen stops him before he gets to the locker room door. “Hey, do you mind if I invite Jared?” he asks, phone in hand.

“Deputy P.? ‘Course I don’t mind. I haven’t seen him since he showed up at the bar last week.”

Nick’s only condition is that they go somewhere with a little _life_. Meaning somewhere with dancing and enough women for Nick to have a shot at finding a date. Since plans with Nick tend to end with a few beers and a bar scene, Jensen planned ahead by stashing a nice pair of jeans and an unworn navy v-neck in his car. 

But as good as he thinks he looks when they get to the club just after ten-thirty, he’s _invisible_ next to the God waiting for them inside.

Even Nick understands. “There go my chances tonight,” he says, slapping Jared on the back.

Almost bashful, Jared drops his head. He’s already bought a round of beers; Jensen swipes a bottle and takes a long swallow before his tongue has him offering to swallow something else.

“I won’t get in your way, I promise.”

Nick laughs. “Just here for the scenery?”

Jared meets Jensen’s eyes. “Something like that.”

Jensen would respond, but he’s still absorbing Jared’s appearance. Stonewashed jeans, fitted across the hips but hanging looser on the way down to his boots; heather gray shirt hugging his shoulders that looks soft enough to sleep in. The whole look is _effortless_ , but it’s his face that truly arrests.

Rather than letting his gorgeous hair swing free, Jared has pulled the majority of it back into a loose knot, some strands escaping to curl around the back of his neck. The style leaves Jared’s face completely open for Jensen to appreciate the way his bone structure catches the low light, nothing shielding his gaze from Jensen’s—details he absolutely needs to find a way to work into his new book.

Jensen has a bad habit of _crushing_ on his own characters when he writes. For this book, it’s the long-haired cop with a grin as wide as the Mississippi River and a body straight out of a men’s health magazine.

Nick finishes his beer by the time Jensen’s done taking in the view. He snags a cocktail waitress and orders three shots.

“I thought we came here to dance!” Nick shouts, already swaying back and forth.

Jensen looks at Jared and grins. He’s not sure Nick and Jared have hung out that much outside of Nick’s seminars, whereas Jensen’s had a lifetime to get used to his friend’s enthusiasm.

Half an hour later, Nick has been swallowed up on the dance floor.

“Did I miss when Thursday became the new Friday?” Jared asks. They willingly gave up their table to a group of girls and eventually found a square yard of space at the corner of the bar where they don’t have to yell to hear one another. Only if they press close together, of course. How convenient.

Jensen’s only seen the deputy once since dinner at Marat’s bistro. It was for their promised run along the lakeshore; Jensen was proud that he kept pace the entire three miles. The exertion mostly distracted him from the sight of Jared all sweaty, chest-heaving, though he still went home and typed for hours to release all the pent up sexual tension disintegrating his brain.

Kimi has never been happier; Jensen’s ready to combust.

After Jensen declines dance invitation number three, this one from a shorter man with skin the color of a good latte and wavy, black hair, Jared nudges his shoulder.

“It's too bad. You look like you’d be a good dancer.”

“Maybe I’m _too_ good,” he boasts, “and I don’t want to wound your self-esteem.”

“Or maybe I’ll just let you think that so you feel better about yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” Jensen taunts. “That’s what you think?”

Jared taps his chest over his heart. “Proud public servant, right here, and all around good guy.”

Dragging the conversation to its conclusion, Jensen drains his current beer and beckons Jared towards the dance floor. “Time to crown a winner,” he says.

Not to be outdone, Jared follows. “I’ll let you know if I want my crown in gold or silver.”

As confident as Jensen is, the crowd doesn’t part for him, but rather the deputy’s broad shoulders clear the way. Jared brushes past ravenous looks and eager hands as if no one else is there, while he keeps one hand on Jensen’s lower back to make sure they aren’t separated. Jensen could laugh; for once he’s on the receiving end of more than one jealous gaze. He steps more solidly into the contact, warns other dancers off with a fierce stare.

Possessive much? Absolutely. 

Nick dances over when he spots them. The thumping bass obscures most of what he says; Jensen assumes he’s thrilled they’ve finally joined him. He spins back towards his own circle of admirers, waving for Jared and Jensen to join in, but Jensen’s happy to stay within Jared’s reach. A feeling that’s mutual given the way Jared won’t stop touching him. 

The beat thrums through them as one. Competition is forgotten in favor of admiration, hesitant touches accepted and returned as the tempo winds them up. Jensen’s rhythm is centered in his stomach, twisting and bending to move in sync with the shape of Jared’s body. Jared uses his hips to swing and thrust, just a brush of interest, a hint that leaves a sweet taste on Jensen’s tongue. Men and women try to split them apart, slip between them with smiles and coy eyes. Jensen wants to keep the deputy to himself. Likewise, Jared fends off the interest by reeling Jensen even closer.

They dance for an hour, or maybe for ten minutes. Jensen can’t tell. He’s sweating out his inhibitions, t-shirt clinging to his skin. Jared’s in similar shape, solid and hot against Jensen’s chest. They say nothing—not with words, anyway. The longer they dance, the more Jensen realizes that he _wants_ Jared. Not for an hour, a night, or a week. He wants Jared in a way that speaks more to king-sized beds and anniversary dinners. Also, some really amazing sex.

Plots begin to unwind in his head. _Fuck, not now!_ Jensen curses silently. He wants to enjoy, not think about the story waiting on the tips of his fingers, but he needs his characters to have moments like this, too. With words, he can turn it into such a heated moment in his story, translate for his readers the way the flames are licking his skin, pressing closer to Jared to share the warmth between them. Or he can ignore the way the gears are turning in his mind, wrap his arms around Jared's shoulders and take something for himself. 

He knows from experience that he can’t have it both ways.

The choice is taken from Jensen before he can make it. Nick dances between them, a pretty oval-faced brunette with a pixie-cut and purple eyeshadow on his arm. He and his new friend snag Jared and Jensen by the elbows and pull them along to the bar where Nick orders another round of shots—something fruity and overly sweet. Jared declines, saying he needs to work in the morning, but Jensen feels the caress of his stare when he picks up his shot and swallows in one go.

If Jared has to leave, Jensen might as well send him off with one hell of a mental image. 

After Jared goes, Jensen expects Nick to beg him to stay, but he's already being whisked away by the purple-shaded pixie, soon lost all over again. Jensen texts him a quick congrats before paying his tab and leaving. 

He considers calling a cab but his place is only a few minutes away and he's already sweated out most of the alcohol he consumed with the exception of the last shot. Despite the hour, he's desperate to get home and start typing, lay out in words exactly what he felt when he was with Jared, since he was denied the thing itself. He won't do justice to the reality, but if he can get even close, his readers won't know what hit them.

Plan set, Jensen heads home. Tonight, he'll write as far as inspiration will carry him...just as soon as he gets himself off to the sense memory of dancing with the man of his dreams.

**#####**

"At this rate you'll finish the book within a month and add to the series before the end of the year."

"I never said anything about a series," Jensen mutters into his Bluetooth while he chops peppers for lunch. "I don't do series."

But Kimi sounds gleeful. "You need to start. Readers invest in your characters and they don't want the story to end. We're already getting a lot of interest about the new book on social media..."

Kimi goes on about how Felicia, her goddess for all things online, has been teasing the new book on Jensen's—make that Jack N. Lessene's—Twitter account. He's never had the time to run his own accounts (and if he did, he's certain it would consist of mostly curses and complaints about writing) so he appreciates that Kimi has someone who knows what she's doing. 

"If this book is as good as I think it's going to be, it'll seal your place as the Nicholas Sparks of gay romance."

Jensen chokes down the urge to vomit. Not a comparison he enjoys hearing. "Only with a lot more sex and a _hell_ of a lot less crying." Fewer funerals, too. 

After promising to send Kimi a few more chapters before the end of the week, Jensen hangs up. He's just sitting down to eat his salad when his phone chimes. 

**Feel like dinner at Marat's?**

Giddy at the chance to see Jared (and welcoming the burst of creativity their meetings bring), he accepts. 

**8:30 okay?**

The time strikes Jensen as being oddly late, though he doesn't mind. Gives him plenty of time to write and read papers for the rest of the afternoon before his evening class.

Jared isn't waiting at the bar when Jensen walks into Marat's later that night. Sending a quick text, Jensen grabs their usual seats and enjoys a glass of grapefruit soda while talking to Marat.

When Jared finally comes through the door, it's after nine and Jensen's tasted three of Marat's ideas for a new small-plates menu. He greets the deputy with a genuine smile—he doesn't care what time it is—although it fades when he sees Jared's expression. The deputy is pale, throwing the shadows beneath his eyes into sharp relief. His posture speaks of a weariness that doesn’t come entirely from physical exhaustion, but from emotional wear-and-tear as well.

"Are you okay?" he asks as Jared takes a seat at the bar. 

"I'm really sorry." Of course the first thing out of Jared's mouth is an apology Jensen doesn't need. Not when he looks so weary. "Rough shift tonight."

"I can take a rain check if you'd rather head home."

Jared's eyes go soft. "Thanks, but it's better now that I'm here. Been looking forward to this since lunch."

Jensen could melt the same way Marat's new buerre blanc melted on his tongue earlier. The restaurateur saves him from an inappropriately lovesick response by bringing Jared one of the craft beers in lieu of soda. 

"I think you need this," Marat explains and Jared doesn't protest. 

Choosing his words carefully, Jensen inquires about Jared's shift and listens as the deputy rehashes a domestic violence call that turned into a standoff. His voice is flat when he talks, eyes unable to focus. Jensen listens to everything with a patient ear until Marat brings their plates. 

"The rest can wait," Jared says, leaning in to savor the aromas. "I'm starving."

While they eat, Jensen fills the gaps with pieces of his week, though obviously skipping over any mention of his actual job or the new book. He talks about the excuses his students give for needing extensions and the ones he thinks have real potential. The longer he talks the more the tension slips out of Jared’s expression. Furrows easing across his forehead; his cheeks finally regaining some of their color.

Jensen would talk all night if it brought a smile to Jared’s face.

Marat removes their empty plates before seeing to his other late night patrons. Jared’s barely into his second beer, fingers sliding around the glass.

“Is it weird that I’m here with you right now?”

Jensen has no idea how to answer that, so he doesn’t try. “Are we not supposed to hang out?” It might have something to do with Jared’s position in the sheriff’s department, or even his family. Whatever the reason, Jensen would be devastated if he couldn't see Jared anymore. 

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Jared stares at his drink like he can wring words from it. “I was sort of asking myself, you know?”

Jensen swirls the ice in his glass while he waits for Jared to explain. Sensing the weight of their silence, Marat doesn’t try to interrupt, working around them.

“It was a rough day for everyone, not just me,” Jared says, rubbing his hand down the side of his face. “Roddy, another deputy, thought we should all hang out together, work through what happened. And I thought about going to a bar with the rest of them—they’re my friends, too.”

Jensen wonders where this is going, heart thumping with enough force he can feel it behind his ribs. Maybe he’s been selfish wanting Jared to himself even though they haven’t known one another for long.

That's not what Jared is trying to say, though.

“I knew I couldn’t just go home, and going out with other people who understand what I’m going through seemed like an okay plan, but all I could think about was seeing you. Is that crazy?”

Wait. He’s asking Jensen?

“Why would it be crazy?” He doesn’t give voice to how flattered he is. “We’re friends, too.”

Jared angles his body away from the bar to look straight at Jensen.

“I don’t usually say things like this to my _friends_ , Jensen."

Oh. 

_Oh._

“If you just want to be friends, that’s okay,” Jared is saying, apparently oblivious to the way Jensen is bouncing in his bar chair. “I figured you knew how I felt. Especially after we danced at the club the other night."

Jensen’s smile is automatic. “I admit, I was keeping my fingers crossed.” Taking a chance, he lays his hand above Jared’s knee hoping it’s enough to let Jared know the feeling is mutual. He could put it into words, but he’s afraid of how much of himself he’d give away.

As if Jensen’s touch is the release he needed, some of the tension seeps out of Jared’s muscles. He still carries the weight of his rough shift, and no doubt will for the rest of the night. Fortunately, it hasn’t broken him. Jensen intends to distract Jared from his burden, regain a little of the lighter atmosphere he’s used feeling when they’re together.

“Is it my turn to ask a crazy question?”

“Definitely,” Jared teases, taking a sip of his now-room temperature beer.

“At the club the other night, if I’d asked you to come home with me, would you have said yes?”

Jensen’s kept the memory of dancing with Jared fresh in his mind since he went home alone. It proved useful for some of the scenes he needed to write for the new book, as well as other activities, of course.

“I wouldn’t have been able to say no,” Jared admits. “I was about to say something before Nick interrupted us.”

Jensen’s whole body warms. “What about tonight?’”

Jared moans long and low, dropping his forehead onto the varnished oak bar. The navy and green plaid shirt he's wearing stretches temptingly across his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Jensen’s not sure if he wants to give him a hug or give him a blowjob.

Seriously, he’s good either way. Maybe a hug _before_ the blowjob.

“Why’d you have to ask?”

Jensen smirks. “I thought it was kinda obvious.”

Without lifting his head, Jared says, “If I hadn’t been through the wringer tonight, I’d be dragging you out of here right now.” 

“I’m good with that.” Jensen sees the corner of Jared’s mouth quirk into a smile. “We don’t have to do anything. Come over, relax.” 

He means it sincerely, too, which is a little unnerving because Jensen has rarely ever taken a guy home when sex _wasn’t_ in the cards. With Jared, he’s more than willing to chill out and talk, or find a game on television and relax in silence. Whatever Jared might need to help him deal with what he’s gone through tonight.

“I’ve got an early shift.” Jared sits up, runs his hands through his hair to push it away from his face. Jensen's finger itch to do the same. 

“I don’t mind.”

“Good to know,” Jared says, “but I don’t want to start something with you when I’m like this.”

Jensen would happily start something with Jared no matter what. He understands where Jared's coming from. Sex can be appealing after a strenuous day—especially the kind of sex with no names and no strings attached. When there are feelings involved, on the other hand, it’s better to be cautious. 

“Come over tomorrow,” Jensen offers. “I don’t have an evening class. We can order some food, watch a movie.” They’ve always gone out; Jensen’s looking forward to having Jared in his space.

“I’ll call you when I leave the station,” Jared promises, sliding his thumb over the back of Jensen’s hand. That simple touch is enough to kindle all kinds of urges that Jensen is eager to explore both on the page and between the sheets. 

Marat bestows a friendly, knowing grin on the both of them when they finally split the bill and head out. Jensen can’t argue with how the night turned out—he knows that Jared likes him, knows that there’s potential for so much more. And while the revelation is exciting, it’s also terrifying.

One thing’s for sure: between the mountain of ideas fighting for space in his mind and the haziness that comes from knowing how Jared feels, it’ll be a while before sleep finds Jensen tonight. As far as figuring out how to balance having Jared _and_ not losing his inspiration goes, Jensen decides it can wait.

**#####**

Jensen sends Kimi three new chapters in the morning. Needless to say he had a productive night. Consequently, he finds himself yawning at inopportune moments throughout the day, which is absolutely unacceptable given the plans he has for tonight.

Caffeine is his savior and Jensen treats himself to a large coffee with a shot of espresso just after lunch. By the time he arrives at CLCC for his afternoon class, Kimi has sent him several emails raving about the chapters. She also asks if he’s come up with a working title. Which, _no_. Jensen hates coming up with titles, preferring to leave it in the hands of Kimi and her team of editors.

He gets a text from Jared while his students are in the middle of a speed-writing exercise.

**I’ll bring dinner tonight. Any preferences?**

Jensen mutters to himself. “How about some gelato so I can lick it off your stomach?” He glances up, but fortunately no one in his class heard that.

Jensen shakes his head. _Nah, too soon._

On the way home, Jensen parks at the lakeshore close to where Jared took him the first night they went to Marat's. The coffee has his blood jumping and he feels restless, so he grabs his bag and walks to one of the nearby empty benches. 

Tilting his face towards the sun, Jensen marvels at how different his life is in Brookgreen the second time around. He expected to fall into old habits, see the same people he grew up with. As Brookgreen has changed, so has Jensen. He's content to move in a much smaller circle these days. With Nick, Jensen can be social; his best friend helps him party the routine out of his system. And then there's Jared who's less of a whirlwind and more like a soft spring rain, bringing change and new life without any of the destructive force. 

Jared's impact on his life can be measured in the number of words Jensen's written since they met. Jensen wishes he could tell Jared how grateful he is, but the deputy has no idea what he's done. The least Jensen can do is show him, take his own words and turn them into actions so that Jared can have a taste of what's been running through Jensen's mind since the night they met. Even if Jared doesn't understand where it's coming from. 

Tonight, the only story Jensen wants to write is his own. 

He leaves the lakeshore and heads home, figuring he'll use the rest of the afternoon to clean and respond to Kimi's stream of emails. Or, pretend to clean while silently freaking out about tonight, work be damned. 

Jared knocks on Jensen's door a few minutes after he finishes remaking his bed. _Just in case_. 

"I swear I only went to Marat's to get his advice on a bottle of wine," Jared says once Jensen invites him in. He hands over an expensive-looking bottle and shows Jensen the bag of food he's carrying. "He insisted on cooking something for us."

_Something_ turns out to be a three course meal as opposed to separate entrees. Jared and Jensen split everything from the pear and arugula salad with warm, thick-crusted rolls, to a lamb risotto. 

"This isn't even on Marat's menu," Jensen says, doing his best not to moan when the meat hits his tongue. 

Jared shakes his head. "I know. You should've seen his face when I told him I was planning on ordering a pizza."

There's little doubt the bistro owner doesn't know what transpired between Jared and Jensen at his bar last night. Marat has literally cooked 'date food' for them. 

Jensen catches Jared's gaze and grins. "Just for the record, I totally love pizza."

The wine Jared brought is ridiculous in the most amazing way. While he's always appreciated wine, Jensen doesn't claim to know a lot about the stuff, but he knows this is the kind you savor slowly.

_Subtle, Marat._

They take their glasses to the couch along with the last takeout container. Inspired by the delicious wine, Jensen queues up _Bottleshock_ on Netflix (because it's a crime that Jared's never seen it), though he has a feeling the movie isn't going to be the focus of the evening. 

Jared's face is beautifully wine-flushed, eyes alight. There's a hint of sweat along his throat, disappearing past the collar of his black button-down, and when he opens the dessert Marat gave them, his tongue peeks out to lick over his pink lips.

“He only gave us one.”

Jensen brandishes two forks. “Guess we’ll have to share.”

Dessert is the best part of the meal, and not just because they have to press close together on the couch to eat out of the same container. Marat’s creation consists of an airy, slightly sweet cake topped with baked, spiced fruits along with nuts, honey, and a dusting of powdered sugar. Decadent in the most delightful way. Jensen loses count of how often Jared licks his lips, tongue lingering just a bit longer each time. 

Jensen starts the movie as a means of distraction, otherwise he'd be on Jared's lap, searching out the taste of honey in the corners of Jared's mouth. Probably too soon for that. As predicted, they barely focus on the screen. Jared flirts with light touches: fingers drifting across the skin of Jensen's neck when he lays his arm along the back of the couch, grabbing Jensen's wrist to look at his watch or play with one of the cords on his leather bracelet. All of it perfectly sweet and idyllic and not exactly what Jensen thought would happen tonight. 

They like each other. Jensen isn't accustomed to waiting once he knows that a guy's into him, yet Jared seems content to dance around the matter. 

"Is something wrong?" Jensen asks when he realizes that no, Jared's hand _isn't_ going to move any higher than his knee. 

"No, why? Did I do something?"

Jensen sighs. "Actually, it's what we're not doing. I thought—"

"You thought we'd be having sex by now." Jared nails it. Show the man what he's won. 

"After what we talked about last night, I figured we were on the same page."

"Would you believe I'm nervous?"

Jensen's about to tell him that's impossible. By looks alone, Jared could have whoever he wanted. In Jensen's case, the attraction lies so much deeper. That's when he notices the flush on Jared's cheeks, feels the way his fingers flex against his knee.

"There's no reason to be," Jensen assures. He smirks, nudging Jared with his shoulder. "I'm kind of a sure thing."

That gets him a smile, at least. Jensen decides that he doesn't care whether anything happens tonight—this guy is _totally worth it_. He'd go so far as to say it's the best 'date' he's had in years. 

The movie plays on without either of them paying attention. Jensen's content to just look at Jared, take his time tracing the sharp line of his nose, the crevice between his collarbones. 

"I've never really believed in the whole meant-to-be thing," Jared says, pulling Jensen out of his quiet and thorough appreciation of the deputy. 

"Me neither." Sure, Jensen likes to write about it—his characters helpless against the forces aligning to bring them together. That doesn’t mean the idea is rooted in his realm of experience. 

"I'm used to meeting a guy, feeling a little bit of interest, and seeing where things go."

Sounds good to Jensen. "We can do that."

When Jared looks over, Jensen sees something curious swirling in those green eyes. "Can we? You're all I think about, and that's what makes me nervous. The last thing I want to do is mess this up."

Hold on. Jensen rewinds what Jared just said. "You think about me?" he asks, trying to keep his mouth flat and failing, because that's one of the best things he's ever heard. 

"Shut up, you know I do," Jared tells him, returning the smile. Jensen can't _not_ kiss him, then, and Jared leans in like he doesn't expect Jensen to resist. 

Jensen has written hundreds of kisses throughout his career: first kisses and familiar kisses, ones for reunions and ones for goodbyes, sexy and innocent and everything in between. He knows which words to use with each type. For the life of him, he can't begin to describe what Jared's kiss does to him. If this were a scene from Jensen's story, it would be a blank page after, "...and their lips met."

What begins as a soft press of lips deepens without hesitation. As if he already knows how to kiss Jared; already knows that teasing the corner of Jared's mouth with his tongue is the best way to get Jared to open for him. Just like Jared knows Jensen's weakness for lip-biting; he catches Jensen's fuller bottom lip gently between his teeth, and Jensen can feel his smile. Not to mention, Jensen is seriously reconsidering his stance on facial scruff. Instead of being rough against his skin, Jared's five o'clock shadow is soft, tickling where his skin rubs Jensen's. 

They spend the better part of fifteen minutes making out on the couch, hands _miraculously_ behaving themselves, though Jensen wouldn't say no to a little mutual groping. He remembers the feeling of Jared's body against his in the club. He _wants_. 

At least he can take pride in the way Jared's mouth is roughed up and red when he finally pulls away. 

"I think I knew this was going to happen as soon as I saw you in that bar with Nick," Jared admits. Jensen is almost too distracted by the flicker of sweat he can see along Jared's throat to respond.

"And we waited this long?" Jensen knows he's partially to blame. He's been using Jared, feeding off their interactions for his own inspiration. "We're crazy."

"I want to be totally honest with you." Jared says it earnestly, eyes bright. He stares at Jensen like he's waiting for something, eyes seeing more than Jensen’s comfortable revealing. He hides his uneasiness behind a smile, a grateful nod. The flutter in his stomach turns heavy with guilt—he hasn't been honest at all. Where would he even begin?

Jared laughs. "Waiting a few more days won't kill us, right?"

"Maybe not you..." Jensen grumbles. Jared dips forward to soothe his irritation with another kiss, leaving Jensen's mind blank for the time being.

Later, when Jared has gone and Jensen's alone in his office, he's too distracted to accomplish much in the way of writing. He has a plan for his characters all laid out, but the words won't come. He thinks of nothing but Jared—the way he thought it was noble to wait. The expectation in his eyes. Was Jensen supposed to argue? Disagree? Tell Jared that waiting was a fucking _horrible_ idea best left to romance novels (he should know) and date movies? 

To put it simply: Jensen feels like shit.

Jared offers honesty while Jensen can’t even admit what he does for a living. For good reason, though. He likes Jared too much to ruin things with the truth. If Jared can’t handle what he does, Jensen would be devastated. Even worse, what if Jared pretends to be okay only to resent Jensen later on, the way Brian had?

No, there’s no good way out of this one. Jensen’s written himself into a corner in real life and there’s no ‘backspace’ key to bail him out.

It’s time to bring in a second opinion.

**#####**

“Dude, I called it.”

“You did not.”

Nick holds his ground. “I _so_ did, Jenny.”

Jensen pays for their coffees and follows Nick over to an empty table, rolling his eyes and grumbling under his breath about annoying best friends. 

For a Saturday afternoon, the cafe isn’t crowded, only a few scattered patrons paying attention to their tablets and laptops along with a couple of late-lunchers. It’s been two days since Jensen and Jared split dinner at his house—two days exchanging texts the way they normally would, yet with an undercurrent of tension that hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“I never said anything.”

“You know how much my mother likes to talk,” Nick points out once they’re sitting. “She told me how often you’re submitting chapters. Usually I have to listen to you complain about, like, your writer’s block and shit like that, but you haven’t bitched once about your new book.”

Jensen groans. If Kimi wasn’t the best in his genre, he would totally look for a new agent. “What else did she tell you?” he asks to gauge how much damage control he needs.

Nick takes a sip of his iced latte, sprawling in his chair. “She told me the book’s gonna be good, man. That tells me you’re in _way_ over your head with Deputy P.”

“How’d you know it was Jared?”

“You’re kidding, right? You actually thought you were being subtle?” Nick laughs. Jensen has to resist the urge to kick his chair out from underneath him. Jerk. “I remember the night you guys met—I might as well have been invisible! Why do you think I made you exchange numbers?”

“Don’t say you planned this,” Jensen mutters.

“Never,” Nick says, “but it was pretty obvious you guys were into each other and not _doing_ anything about it. Seriously, I thought you would’ve hooked up after the club.”

“Me too.”

“Aww, don’t worry, Jenny.” Nick smirks. “Jared wants you, trust me.”

“Jared doesn’t know about the stories. He thinks I’m a professor.”

“So tell him.”

Jensen sighs. “It’s not that simple.”

Nick waves off the protest. “There’s not a huge gap between professor and writer, man. Both careers mean you dress like an old man, you’re nerdy, and you spend way too much time on your computer.”

“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” Jensen says with a half-smile. “I bought your friggin’ coffee.”

Nick sucks on his straw defiantly. “Just trying to make a point. Jared won’t care.”

Jensen has plenty of evidence to the contrary, though. “You know what happened with Brian. I thought he’d be okay with it, too.”

“Brian was a douchebag,” Nick says flatly. “He was selfish. He thought your books were you fantasizing about other guys.”

“It was supposed to bring us closer.”

Nick leans across the table, expression suddenly serious. “That’s what you’re not seeing, Jen. You told him because you thought it would _save_ your relationship, meaning there was already something wrong. Whether you told him or not, it was only a matter of time until you guys broke up. And you know what? Good riddance,” he adds, a bite to his words now. “You deserved better.”

Jensen feels like he’s _glowing_. He regrets all those years he lived too far away from Nick to have this kind of relationship. Moving back to Brookgreen was the right decision for more than one reason. If Nick didn’t already have five times as much money in the bank as Jensen, he’d offer to pick up the guy’s bar tab for life.

“Jared’s a better guy,” Jensen muses out loud.

“Damn right, he is,” Nick says. “Just talk to him about it. Then distract him with sex.”

“I tried—”

Nick groans and _thunks_ his forehead on the table. “I don’t want to know. Seriously, I draw the line at relationship advice. I get enough gay porn from your books, man.”

**#####**

The following week is equal parts frustrating and invigorating.

Jared might be unnerved by the depth of his feelings for Jensen (and Jensen is starting to understand how that feels), but he’s definitely not avoiding the issue. He wants to hang out _all the time._

Monday night, Jared picks him up and they meet Nick at the old Brookgreen Theater where they’re hosting a special back-to-back screening two of Nick’s old martial arts movies. Jensen and Jared hang back after the showings, fingers greasy from all the popcorn they ate, watching Nick sign autographs for at least three dozen eager kids and teenagers. Jensen takes plenty of photos and sends them to Kimi.

When the kids are gone, Jared steps up and teasingly asks Nick to sign his t-shirt, leading to a Sharpie battle that leaves both of them with marker scars on their arms and hands. Jensen hasn’t laughed this hard in a long time.

Jared drives Jensen back to his house and they make out in the cab of his truck like they’re teenagers themselves, coming away with bruised elbows and cricks in their necks from maneuvering in a small space. It’s absolutely worth the discomfort to enjoy Jared’s mouth again, to feel the wide grip of Jared’s hand behind his head while he sucks on Jensen’s tongue. His lips are pillowy soft but not too giving—Jensen loves the bite-back, the pressure, the _demand_ in his kiss.

“You’re coming inside, right?” Jensen asks, hoping the double meaning serves as further enticement. 

Jared drags his teeth over Jensen’s bottom lip, muttering, “I’ve got an early shift.”

Jensen growls and shoves him back into the driver’s seat. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Sorry,” Jared says. Jensen might believe him if it weren’t for the fucking smirk on his face when he glances down at the bulge in Jensen’s jeans.

Jensen walks into the house _alone_ and heads straight to his office. No passing go, no grabbing a fortifying drink from the kitchen, and definitely no dealing with the semi-boner he’s sporting as a result of making out with Jared. What he does do is sit down at his desk and bang out a new chapter, thoughts outpacing his fingers on the keyboard. Every word is a product of his sexual frustration. If Jensen isn’t having sex, then his characters shouldn’t either.

Kimi is going to love it. Jensen, on the other hand, wants to scream.

When he’s not teaching on Tuesday, Kimi forces him to Skype with Felicia so they can coordinate his social media campaign for the next few months. They chat about everything from his characters—”Oh my God, Jensen, you’re the _worst_ for making them wait so long!”—to potential titles for the new book. Felicia promises to send him a few options, along with several blog updates for him to review before she posts them to Jack N. Lessene’s page.

Wednesday is the same. After rejecting Felicia’s suggestions, Kimi tells Jensen he needs to come up with a title by the beginning of next week so that she and Felicia can kick the marketing into high gear. It’s been a while since Jensen published a major story; they’re going all out for the new book.

Jared shoots him texts throughout the day and they make plans to meet at Marat’s for a late dinner after Jensen’s class.

“I ordered wine,” Jared says when Jensen sits down beside him. “Marat was telling me about this Malbec he tried last week…”

Jensen won’t remember what Jared tells him about the wine (something he’s taken more of an interest in ever since Marat helped him choose a bottle for dinner). He’s too distracted by the way Jared’s hands move, the life in his eyes, so different from when they met here last week after Jared’s rough shift. Marat catches Jensen staring and winks, turning away to greet another customer before Jared notices.

Jensen writes two additional chapters that night. Instead of swelling tension, these chapters are more romantic, focused on the feelings his characters are doing their best to deny. 

The longer Jensen goes without sex, the more he writes. His frustration is the best writing tool he’s ever had. Not exactly ideal, because Jensen isn’t sure how long he can survive this level of unfulfillment before he spirals into writer’s madness.

Nick invites Jensen and Jared out to a bar on Thursday night. Jensen shows up early and corners Nick outside the door.

“Don’t say anything.”

“You mean, don’t tell Jared that you’re _desperate_ for his d—”

Jensen shoves him against the door and stomps inside, leaving Nick laughing behind him. Jared finds them both at the bar twenty minutes later, reaching for the bottle of beer Jensen orders for him. Fortunately for Jensen, Nick’s attention is quickly stolen by a blonde with a devilish grin and bubble-gum pink lips, leaving Jensen and Jared to talk while they share a plate of loaded fries. Not exactly the caliber of food they would get at Marat’s, but the fries are definitely messy. Meaning Jared’s tongue makes plenty of trips to lick sour cream and grease from his lips.

Bar food has its advantages.

“My old boss from Dallas called today,” Jared tells them after ordering another round of beers.

“Did something happen?”

Jared quickly shakes his head. Like the other times they’ve gone out on Thursday nights, the bar is getting crowded, and Jensen has to lean close to hear Jared over the noise. Not that he minds. Jared must’ve showered after his shift—the ends of his hair are slightly damp and he smells _ridiculously_ delicious, like cucumber and mint with just a hint of fresh cologne.

“Nah, he was just checking up on me.”

“It’s been years since you left Dallas, though. Right?”

“Special Agent Williams helped me get this job,” Jared explains. “I think he wants to make sure I don’t regret the move.”

Jensen presses a little closer, and Jared responds by laying his arm across the back of Jensen’s chair. 

“Do you?”

“Not at all,” Jared assures with a warm smile. “I got frustrated working for the FBI. Too much of a hierarchy—not enough information. My partner had been there five years longer than I had,” he says, “and he kept a lot of secrets from me. He claimed it was all _need to know_ stuff, but that was bullshit. It was getting harder and harder to do my job.”

Jensen has no chance to turn his frown into a smile before Jared looks over. “Don’t worry, I’m perfectly happy here,” he says, misconstruing Jensen’s concern. 

Of course, Jensen’s thoughts are wheeling off in a different direction. Jared has _trust issues_. Crap. Just when he thought he couldn’t feel any worse about hiding his career, not to mention the fact that he’s using Jared for inspiration. He’s on the verge of confessing everything right there at the bar—well aware that it’s a terrible plan—when Nick glides up between them to order a beer and a round of shots.

“Where’s your date?” Jared asks.

“Her girlfriends just got here,” Nick says, handing a couple of bills to the bartender. “I’d introduce you guys, but what’s the point?”

Jensen laughs. “More for you, man. Have fun,” he says, hyper-aware of the drag of Jared’s thumb against his upper back.

“Planning on it, Jenny.” He takes the small tray from the bartender and orders two more shots. “Give ‘em to these guys,” he says, nodding at Jared and Jensen. “Liquid courage, my friends!” Nick’s laugh lingers in Jensen’s ear even as he walks away.

Jared is biting his lip, eyes fond when he looks at Jensen. “Something I should know?”

“What makes you think that?” Jensen grumbles.

Jared picks up his shot. “Liquid courage?”

“That’s just Nick being Nick,” Jensen says, grabbing his own shot and downing it in one go. _Can’t hurt_ , he figures. Jared watches Jensen lick his lips before raising his glass and doing the same.

Jensen is already counting the number of pages he’ll be writing later tonight.

Eventually, the beer (and the shot) works its way through Jensen, forcing him to visit the men’s room. When he comes out, Jared is looming in the narrow hallway, shoulders practically taking up the entire width.

“We lost our seats.”

Jensen sighs, tucking himself beneath Jared’s outstretched arm. They’re alone in the hallway, no one around to witness Jared tilting down to kiss him, tongue moving slow and languid against Jensen’s because of the alcohol.

“So what should we do now?” Jared asks as he lays a line of warm, delicate kisses from Jensen’s ear down the side of his neck. Or, the _danger zone_ , as Jensen refers to it, based on how rapidly he becomes aroused.

“Seriously?” Jensen groans. “You’re _killing_ me here.”

“Liquid courage,” Jared taunts in a whisper, pulling away with an evil little twist taking shape in the corner of his mouth. “Wanna head back to the bar?”

“Not even a little bit,” Jensen admits, “but if I ask you to come back to my place…”

“I’d say no.” Jared is quick to kiss the pout off Jensen’s lips. “Ask me what I’m doing tomorrow night.”

Jensen blinks. Jared expects him to _process_ information right now? “What’s going on tomorrow night?”

“I was kinda hoping we’d get together at your place.”

“For dinner?”

There’s that devious smirk again. “More like dessert.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jensen curses on a long exhale.

Jared grins. “If we’re lucky.”

**#####**

Jensen looks at his phone and groans, setting his coffee aside.

“It’s too early for this,” he mutters to himself before he hits _accept_. “Morning.”

Kimi’s voice is chirpy in his ear. “I’ve just finishing glancing over what you sent last night. Seems like you’re getting close to the end. Got a title for me yet?”

“Haven’t been able to come up with one.”

“Felicia’s got a few more for you to consider,” Kimi says, “I’ll have her email those later this morning. Pick one, even if it’s not perfect.”

“You know I hate picking them,” Jensen reminds her.

“Then by all means, tell me how I can publish your story without one.”

Point taken. 

“Anyway, once you send me the last few chapters, I’ll pass it on to my editors and let you know what they think, alright? Though I can already tell it’s gonna be a hit.”

“Appreciate that,” Jensen says. After what’s gone into this book, he’d be devastated if it failed. More than with his previous stories, this one feels like it’s been pulled straight out of his soul. “I’ll get back to you later.”

He hangs up and yawns, stretching his shoulders. Waking up late after a long night of creative endeavors is always a little tricky. Feels like his brain hasn’t come online yet. He worked on overdrive last night, pounding out several new chapters as his story came to a climax (not a _literal_ one, unfortunately), mind filled with possibilities after Jared kissed him in that hallway.

Now, in the lemony light of mid-morning, Jensen’s thoughts turn to the night ahead. With the caffeine working its magic to provide a much needed boost of energy, Jensen cleans his bathroom and picks up the bedroom, making sure he has condoms and a new bottle of lube in his nightstand.

Though Jensen is distracted during his classes, he manages to get through them without stumbling all over himself. Office hours are tougher ( _why_ did he schedule them on Fridays?), stuck in the temporary office he shares with another professor in the same department. Only three of his students stop by asking for help with their latest projects, giving Jensen plenty of time to labor over whether or not to tell Jared about his book.

By the time he leaves his office, he still hasn’t decided. Jared deserves to know—if Jensen wants to continue seeing him, there’s no way he can keep it a secret—but Brian’s reaction sits sourly in the back of Jensen’s mind.

Texting Nick doesn't help. Like, at all.

**You're the worst. JUST TELL HIM.**

Jensen feels like _the worst_ already. 

**Want me to tell him? EASY. You both like dick. You like WRITING about dick. NBD. See?**

It scares Jensen sometimes, how often his best friend talks about _dick_. Then again, he's never been shy. About anything. Maybe Nick has a point, though. 

Jensen is so wound up by the time Jared knocks on his door, he ready to just blurt his secret and be done with it, _whatever_. Then he opens the door and sees Jared looking like a cover model from one of his own ridiculous stories: suave and confident, each piece of clothing screaming _rip me off this fucking second!_ Standing tall with his long hair brushed away from his face, slightly wavy and fucking blowing as if it’s caught a non-existent breeze.

It doesn’t matter who ends up on the cover of Jensen’s book; they’ll pale in comparison to the man walking through his front door.

As soon as said door is shut and locked, Jensen spins around with the sole intention of introducing Jared to the wall behind him, only to find the deputy holding out a colorful paper bag.

Jensen smirks. “Foreplay?”

“Fro-yo,” Jared laughs.

He grits his teeth to keep from screaming in agony. Jared, the ungodly attractive and unfairly delightful _bastard_ must be able to read the direction of his thoughts.

“Told you I’d bring dessert.”

“I thought you meant _dessert_ ,” Jensen groans, “as in ‘I want to have you for dessert.’”

“We’ll get there.”

Not right away, apparently, Jensen thinks, following Jared into the kitchen. It’s dim aside from the low light spilling in from the hallway and a few pillar candles Jensen had lit before Jared knocked on his door. Jared sees them and smiles.

What? Atmosphere is _essential_.

The next twenty minutes are an exercise in self-restraint that Jensen is pretty certain he fails. He can only watch, slack-jawed and tongue rolled out like a lovesick cartoon character, while Jared enjoys his cup of frozen yogurt: dragging the spoon over his tongue, teasing Jensen with a smile when he licks sticky caramel from the corner of his mouth. Jensen scowls (which only makes Jared chuckle) and ruthlessly bites down on one of the half-frozen blackberries in his own cup, wondering if Jared is tormenting him on purpose. This—the fro-yo, the tongue-action, and the devious glint in his eye—all seems calculated to wind Jensen up until he goes mad.

And it would be a fucking _genius_ plan (because Jensen wants him even more now) if it weren’t for the fact that Jensen will be ruined before they get to do anything.

Jensen finishes his dessert and waits not-so-patiently for Jared to swallow his last spoonful, arms crossed and pulse kicking up. Jared crumples the paper bag and throws it away along with his cup, and Jensen thinks that he’ll finally be allowed to kiss the crap out of the man.

Then, Jared looks at him and says, “Coffee?”

Jensen loses it.

“What are you _waiting_ for?” he whines, head in his hands. “Is there a secret code I’m supposed to use to let you know that I want to have sex with you?”

Jared grins throughout his rant, gazing at Jensen like he’s a precious little puppy barking for attention. That expression loses some of its softness, however, when Jensen stops talking.

“The truth would be nice,” Jared says.

Jensen’s frustration immediately burns out, leaving him empty yet still uncomfortably turned on.

Jared sighs. “I’m a cop, Jensen. I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Jensen slumps against the counter. “That obvious, huh?”

“To me, yeah. Though, to be fair, the way Nick acted around us was a big clue.” He fixes Jensen with an easy stare. “I’m sure it’s no big deal—I know you’re a good guy—but it’s obviously weighing on you, and you feel guilty about whatever it—”

“I’m an author.”

After holding it back for weeks, getting it out is a relief. Jensen expects wide eyes, a look of shock or at least mild surprise, but Jared just keeps smiling.

“Well, yeah. I figured out _that_ much.”

“You did?”

Jared’s forehead creases when he nods. “You teach writing—you must’ve had something published at one point.”

Fair point. “I’m a fiction writer. That’s my real career. The job at CLCC is temporary while I work on my new book.”

“See?” Jared steps close and puts his hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “No big deal, right? I think that sounds pretty cool.”

Jensen so wants to tuck himself against Jared’s warm chest and get on with the more entertaining part of the evening, but the scene is only half finished.

“I write _romance_ novels.” Jensen doesn’t cringe—he takes pride in his work—yet he knows how it sounds to other people. _Fifty Shades can fucking suck his_ —

“That’s kinda sweet,” Jared says.

“Gay romance.”

“Even better.” He laughs. “You’re not gonna scare me off. You were seriously worried about telling me?”

“It’s _erotic_ romance,” Jensen clarifies. “People are weird about that kind of thing. My ex broke up with me after I told him.”

“Why would he do that?” Jared is close enough for Jensen to feel the concern he’s projecting.

Jensen shrugs. “He thought I was using our sex life for inspiration, I guess. When he found out I wasn’t, he got even weirder, like I was cheating on him by writing those scenes.”

“Sounds like a total dick,” Jared says, hand moving down Jensen’s arms until he can link their fingers.

“I moved back here after that. Needed a change of scenery.”

_And a new muse_ , he adds to himself.

“Then I’m glad it didn’t work out,” Jared tells him, and finally they’re kissing again. Thorough, no-corner-left-untouched kisses that Jensen’s going to remember for many nights to come.

Just like he’ll remember the way Jared push/shoves him towards the bedroom, reservations all but gone, and the near frantic breaths he takes while watching Jensen strip out of his shirt and jeans. Jensen will definitely will never forget seeing Jared naked for the first time. Toned by years in a physically demanding job (not to mention training with Nick, which, Jensen knows from personal experience, can be brutal) and not a bit shy to find himself facing Jensen wearing nothing but a smirk.

The visuals are good, but the sex is _better_. In the span of a single night, Jared takes Jensen on a ride the likes of which he’s never enjoyed before. His enthusiasm for sucking cock has Jensen shredding his favorite sheets without a care, gasping up at the ceiling fan, dizzy and completely wrecked.

While Jared waits for him to recover, his fingers move in long lines down Jensen’s chest, soothing and distracting in equal measure. As soon as Jensen regains control over his body, he throws Jared back against the pillows, set on showing him that his _oral_ skills are just as sharp as his literary talents.

If Jensen thought the sexual tension between them was inspiring, it’s nothing compared to the physical reality of fulfillment. Jensen’s creative mind is drowning beneath the weight of ideas. He wants to remember the careless way Jared’s arms are thrown over his head when Jensen sucks a mark above his hipbone; the skip in Jared’s breathing as Jensen strokes the sensitive skin between his legs. Details Jensen never even imagined before, all coming to life under his hands.

He can’t _wait_ to start writing.

Actually, scratch that. He’ll wait until Jared lets him go. Based on the grip he has on Jensen’s shoulders, that won’t be until sometime tomorrow morning.

And Jensen is totally fine with that.

**#####**

“Can I ask a personal question?”

Jensen can’t quite turn his head to look at Jared, so he says, “After what we just did? I’d say we’re on a _very_ personal level with each other.”

Jared chuckles and squeezes Jensen a little tighter before releasing him to lie back on the bed. Jensen stretches his deliciously sore muscles and shifts around to face the deputy, waiting. He’s happy to lie here like a dope for the rest of the night, but obviously the gears continue to turn in Jared’s mind.

“Why didn’t you write scenes based on what you and your ex did?” Jared hesitates. “Wasn’t it good?”

Assuming Jared doesn’t actually want details about his sex life with Brian, he shakes his head.

“That wasn’t the issue. Good or forgettable, what we did wasn’t inspiring for me, you know? I never wanted to use the experiences, and I don’t think he would’ve been comfortable if I asked him to...you know.” Jensen motions between them. “Help me with my research.”

(For the record, sex with Brian was generally forgettable. Someday, Jensen will make that clear to Jared.)

He doesn’t know what kind of reaction to expect, but it’s definitely not the subtle darkening of Jared’s gaze, lips parted to draw a heavy breath.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Jared says.

God help Jensen, he’s fucking getting hard _again_.

“In fact, the whole idea is seriously hot. You can use me for research anytime, Jen. I mean it. I am _totally_ willing to offer my body”—he indicates his naked, mouth-bruised chest—“for the good of your career.”

What the hell can Jensen say after an offer like that? His tongue is thick in his mouth, pulse pounding like a freight train at his temples.

And then he remembers that he’s already used Jared. Taken his smile and his strength and his charisma—even his gentle vulnerability—and filled countless pages in his honor.

“Jared?”

He looks up from his thorough study of Jensen’s sweaty torso. “Hmm?”

“There’s something else I need to tell you.”

**#####**

“What name do you write under?” Jared asks.

Marat sets a glass of wine in front of Jared (he claims he’s gaining an appreciation for the stuff) and an iced grapefruit soda at Jensen’s elbow.

“I googled you. I know you don’t use your real name.”

“It’s an anagram of my name,” Jensen explains, writing JACK N. LESSENE on a cocktail napkin. “Kimi came up with it.”

By now, Jared knows all about Jensen’s demanding agent. Also known as Nick’s mom.

Jared ponders the name on the napkin for a moment, fingers tapping the side of his glass. Jensen both anticipates and dreads the moment of recognition. He’s not exactly a household name, and there’s a god chance that Jared’s never even—

“Oh, wait a minute! You wrote **The Boathouse** , didn’t you?”

Marat is totally listening. Jensen groans; it’s only a matter of time before he knows Jensen’s _secret identity_ , too.

“My sister gave me that book years ago,” Jared is saying. “I thought she was nuts at first, ‘cause I thought everything in that genre was overly-romantic and boring, but _damn_ , the stuff you wrote in that book was so hot. I can still remember the whole plot: two famous actors, escaping the pressures of their public lives by meeting up secretly in Texas. I think I still have my copy,” he admits. The blush on his cheeks gives Jensen a little thrill. “It’s not exactly in any shape to put on my bookshelf, though, if you know what I mean.”

Oh, Jensen definitely does. The idea sends a shiver down his spine.

Jared took the news that he was Jensen’s _muse_ with delight. He’s the opposite of straight-laced Brian, and has turned ‘inspiring’ Jensen into his new personal cause whenever they get together, which, over the last week and a half, has been almost every single night. Despite being run ragged, bent and pulled and worked until he was a writhing mess on the sheets, Jensen still found the energy to haul himself out of bed and write afterward, something that seemed to please Jared as much as the sex they just had.

Okay, not _as_ much. Still, Jared was pretty smug about the whole thing.

Jensen sent the final chapters to Kimi that morning and proceeded to spend the rest of his class-less day in bed, alone, to catch up on sleep. Jared’s text asking him to meet at Marat’s for dinner came just after Jensen woke up, still groggy, but he quickly accepted.

“When can I read the new book?”

“When it gets published, just like everyone else.”

Jared’s fingers find and exploit a ticklish weakness on the side of Jensen’s ribs. The man flat-out refuses to play fair, and Jensen loves it.

“That doesn’t seem right, considering I’m basically the reason you wrote it in the first place.”

Jensen smiles. “I’ll see what I can do about getting you an advance copy.”

“Tell the author I’m willing to trade favors,” Jared says, leaning close enough for Jensen to catch the fresh, citrus notes of his favorite cologne, “if that’s something he’s interested in.”

It’s statements like that which make it difficult for Jensen to focus when he’s around Jared.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Jared asks, squeezing Jensen’s knee under the table while Marat runs Jared’s credit card for their discounted bill. “You know, for the _book_? Or maybe something a little more personal?”

“Actually, there is one thing…” Jensen trails off, lets his lips drift close to Jared’s before pulling away with a smirk. Jared huffs, white teeth shining when he smiles. “The book kinda needs a title.”

Jared laughs. “That’s a little out of my jurisdiction, Jen. But if you need to research anything else, I know a place close by…”

Marat barely gets a chance to wave before the two of them dash out of the bistro and into the night.

**#####**

**Out of his Jurisdiction** by Jack N. Lessene hits shelves (and eReaders) two months later. As Kimi assured him, it’s an instant hit with his fans, download stats creeping further and further up into new territory every single day.

Nick throws Jensen a party at Marat’s: a small but enthusiastic affair to celebrate the release. Even Kimi flies in for the occasion, bringing Jensen the first five copies of the book.

“It’s her custom,” Jensen explains when Jared asks about the small stack. “This way I have a few to give away, but I tend to keep most of them.”

Jared picks up the top copy and smiles at the title. “If I’d known you were gonna use that—”

“Shut up. It’s perfect,” Jensen says, taking a sip of his wine and waiting for Jared to open the front cover.

If picking a title is difficult, writing the dedication is worse. However, for this particular book—part one of what’s going to be an _enjoyable_ series to write—Jensen knew exactly what he wanted to say.

Jared admires the cover for another moment before flipping past the copyright to the dedication. His gaze turns soft and he smiles.

_for the deputy  
who writes my story._

FIN. 


End file.
